Bricks, bricks, and bricks could be used instead of gold, silver, and bronze medals in the Olympics. If all an athlete cares about is winning, then I’ll take the precious metal off the international communities’ hands.


A blanket could be used like a Love Fleece. I imagine you’re shaking your head. Do you disagree? Fine, then when you’re shivering, I won’t ask if it’s because you’re cold—or because you’re lonely.

A brick could be used in speech therapy, to cure a stutter. I mean look at me, I don't have a stutter. But to be fair, I never did have a stutter, so I can't be certain the presence of a brick had any positive effect at all.


A blanket could be hooked to ropes and attached to the body of a swimmer in training, to provide resistance and increase strength and endurance. Those very same ropes could be used to tie me to my bed, to keep me from falling asleep.


A blanket could be used to wrap up all the love I have to offer you, so it’ll be easier for you to carry it across the desert. You’d better get walking, because me and my camel won’t be stopping until we have to pee.


A brick could be used as a musical instrument. It doesn’t matter how bad it sounds, because I’ll be the band’s lead singer, and my sexy voice is like melted butter on a corn on the cob lodged directly into your anus. 


A brick could be used as a response when the cops ask you if you murdered your mother-in-law. Forget yes or no. Well, forget yes altogether, but use brick for every response except one: What object did you use to carry out the killing?


A brick could be planted on a farm, in the hopes that a house will spring up come harvest. But that idea is ridiculous, because we’re in a drought, and there simply hasn’t been enough rain to yield a crop of that magnitude.


A blanket could be used to store valuable information that will keep future generations warm overnight. And just so you know, it wasn’t me that farted in the blanket. That’s a bit too much information, don’t you think?


A blanket could be used as a tank, if you rearrange the letters and leave out the leb. But why would you leave out the leb? That’s the most dangerous part.
 (The leb is the most dangerous part, because it’s the unknown).


A blanket could be used to represent the Rectangle of Desire. In nine out of ten cases, it was more effective than Viagra. The tenth case was found to contain a lot of cash, and the participant made off with the money without completing the study.

A brick could be substituted in for Rhode Island as a US state, because they’re roughly the same size, the have the same population (the brick may have one less person), and Grandma Kintz makes the best Excuse Soup in the entire state.


A blanket could be reverse engineered to discover the origin of sleep. If we could figure out where sleep comes from, we’d know where it goes to while we’re awake, instead of thinking it just disappears like a vanishing magician. 


A brick could be renamed something clever and cute, like President, and repackaged and resold to a solid base of sheep consumers every four years. The sheeple will never even notice that every new model of brick is exactly like the last brick!


A flag could be used as a blanket, but a blanket couldn’t be used as a flag. A blanket provides real warmth, not the pseudo warmth that patriotism provides. A blanket-flag would leave you shivering—not from cold, but from cowardice.